


favourites

by threadoflife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, John is a cockwhore, John loves Sherlock's cock, John loves giving blowjobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: John absolutely loves Sherlock's cock.





	favourites

**Author's Note:**

> uuuuhmmm.... random little tl;dr-ing over at my tumblr....
> 
> http://wssh-watson.tumblr.com/post/161624474262/john-loves-sherlocks-cock-its-in-proportion
> 
> john is a cockwhore y'all and I LOVE IT

John loves Sherlock’s cock.

It’s in proportion to the rest of Sherlock’s body: quite long (longer than average, to be sure, the doctor inside John notes the first time he sees it), and thicker than John expected. John thought he himself has a thick one, but Sherlock might just rival him in that area. He isn’t a grower; when his cock lies flaccid against his thigh, it doesn’t extend in length but rather hardens, fills out its already generous shape.

John likes lying between Sherlock’s thighs in the mornings, when Sherlock is still sleeping with his face buried in his upper arm that is thrown over his head. John likes pushing his face in between Sherlock’s legs, likes being close to where it’s all warmth and musk and male. He likes nudging the tip of his nose against Sherlock’s balls–small, compared to the cock attached to it, but wonderfully rough against John’s tongue, slightly hairy and beautifully tight–to feel them twitch against his cheek.

What he likes even more is lapping at them: feeling all that warm, wrinkled skin on his tongue, smiling when it begins to come alive because of him. He then spreads Sherlock’s legs a bit further–making Sherlock grumble and burrow his face more into his arm in the process–and begins licking at the crease where thigh becomes groin, biting down gently every now and then. His favourite part is when Sherlock’s breathing begins to stutter, just a bit: a slight hitch in his breathing, and the leg under John twitches, and then, oh, yes–John’s eyelids flutter a little–yes, that lovely cock begins to fill. Right before John’s face.

John doesn’t waste any time: he takes the soft head of it into his mouth and curls his tongue gently, gently around the underside. A weak moan comes from somewhere above him, Sherlock finally waking up, but John pays him no mind. He stays where he is, palms firmly on the flesh of Sherlock’s upper thighs to keep them spread apart for him, with his face buried in Sherlock’s groin and Sherlock’s cock thickening on his tongue, filling with blood and arousal right in John’s mouth.

God, it’s his favourite thing in the world. When he turns his head slightly he can feel his cheek make a slight pouch with the tip of Sherlock’s prick pushing against it. He hums around his mouthful and takes a deep breath through his nose, relaxing his throat consciously, and then he allows his mouth to open wider and then he–he–oh, fuck–

Sherlock’s cock, now fully erect and pushing brazenly into John’s greedy mouth with its sizeable length and girth, slides smoothly down John’s throat and lodges there. Without conscious thought John moans at that feeling, low and delighted, and the heaviness in his own groin is too much: with Sherlock invading his throat like that he begins to hump the mattress in tiny, urgent shoves.

“Oh, fuck,” Sherlock groans suddenly, now absolutely, undoubtedly awake. “Oh, fuck, John–”

The curse being the first word out of Sherlock’s mouth, drawn out by John, makes John grin. The movement is stopped though, because he cannot really grin: his lips are stretched too widely for that, stretched wide and even thinner than before, probably a telling, bruised red–and doesn’t that though make him shove his hips faster, faster, needier–and then, dear God above, oh fuck, there are Sherlock’s hands, Sherlock’s gorgeous large hands on the back of John’s head, cupping it and pressing him–fuck, pressing him down even more, and John will choke, John will choke like this, choke on Sherlock’s–fucking–cock–

“John,” Sherlock grits out, raw and hoarse, voice thick with arousal and residue sleep like wet gravel. John’s eyes close involuntarily and he whines, whines around Sherlock’s cock. The sound seems to do something to Sherlock, who spits out, “Fuck!” and, fingers now fisting John’s hair, begins to shove his hips upward in a hard, brutal rhythm, and then everything just consists of Sherlock’s balls slapping against John’s chin, the entire lower half of John’s face drenched in saliva and sweat, Sherlock’s musk and arousal all John can smell–his nose is buried in Sherlock’s public hair, nostrils flaring with heavy, fast breaths–and John feels so owned, so owned and used and taken, invaded and possessed by Sherlock who just uses him like his favourite toy, fucking his face in urgent, lewd bursts of hips–

And when John almost chokes, it’s with Sherlock’s come down his throat and all over his face, running down his chin and cheeks and nose.

After pulling off wetly and biting hard into the flesh of Sherlock’s shaking thigh, John humps the mattress until he comes grunting into the sheets below.


End file.
